


It's All Brand New

by casualfreefall18



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love/Hate, School Dances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualfreefall18/pseuds/casualfreefall18
Summary: *Season 2 Spoiler*What if Justine's school dance had ended differently for Sam and Ruth?An exploration of a more favorable ending.





	1. Chapter 1

Typically Madonna grated on his nerves. Under any other circumstance, even if he was stoned off his gourd, he would have had a conniption at the tune. Angsty, mewling Madonna and her goddamn teeny-bopper-on-the-edge act. Instead, he felt himself melting a bit.

  
"Fast or slow, I'm gonna use the same moves anyway." He lied. Of-fucking-course he wouldn't. Instead of hopping arms-length from the gimp, he found himself swaying beside her, thanking her silently for her peg-legged death grip.

Justine knew somewhere in that mixed up teenage brain of hers that Ruth had found his soft center. She'd been eyeing them, keeping tabs on Ruth's growing confidence behind the camera, noticing the pensive fugue-states he fell into while watching her footage. There was something to it. Ruth was right. Right about so much that he hated it.

  
And he wouldn't let her know that. Alma.

  
Of course he knew Alma Hitchcock. What filmmaker wouldn't have spent hours poring over those films, seeing what made them tick? Knowing that a savvy, even-tempered woman was puppeteering the prickly genius -- too right.

For once he allowed himself to relax. To let time stop around them. To let the fog machine and discoball create a vaseline-on-the-lens sort of effect. To close his eyes and indulge in her hair.

Affairs were always the same for him. Rhonda was, admittedly, adorable. But she was also irritatingly dull. Hairbrained. He knew it was one in a long string of guilty pleasures.

Ruth is worlds apart. She was fucked up, sure. She had her neuroses, her aired-out dirty laundry. But she'd quite literally taken her punches.  And as much as he cringed at her eagerness, her persistent optimism, he loved her despite it.

  
_Come on, take it slow dickhead._ He coached himself. _Don't you dare give in, man. Just remember how fucking irritating she is. God, she's like a morning person. Just relax, man._

But the words were syrupy behind everything. She had shifted, looking at his eyes -- then mustache -- with a nervousness he hadn't seen on her. She was a bit blank. Her stuttering, anxious, unrelenting self was quieted the same as his.

Why the hell not let go?

Tenderly, he allowed himself to become locked in her orbit. To lean in and accept himself, his attraction to her -- no, his need for her.

Her eyes flickered shut as she accepted. There was something awkward and tentative in their shared posture, but he allowed it.

* * *

  
It had been about a week since she had seen him as her boss. The tension had unraveled in those theater seats when he had admonished Tom Grant, sympathized with her, shared a laugh and a _"fuck that guy!"_. Now he was something else altogether. A friend? Was that it? There was some sort of comedy in that realization.

She'd found herself staring at him through the scores of gaudy teens. Watching the pride on his face when he was with Justine. She didn't expect him to ask her to dance.

And she sure-as-shit didn't expect what came next.

When she felt his Sicilian nose in her hair, when she felt him ease up on his taut grip, it was like warning sirens reverberating in her head. OUT OUT OUT. ABORT ABORT.

Her eyes had widened, mulling over if this was what she thought it was. That his new-found tenderness toward her had manifested in some perverted attraction. That if she indulged, she would be just another notch on the bedpost -- a confirmed loose woman.

But she remembered his insistence in the hospital. His company during her procedure. She remembered the night on his couch. The warmth of their breakfast. The reluctant job as familial buffer that she oddly liked.

She pulled away to search him and found herself drawing a blank in the cons department.

* * *

  
The clambering of students and music around them seemed to dull behind the blood rushing between his ears. He didn't know what to expect when he pulled away, reluctant to break the moment they shared.  
This sort of thing was either followed with a slap or a feverish night of passion. But Ruth simply smiled. Teeth and all.

He stuttered a bit, regaining his self-consciousness, once again finding Madonna a bit too loud and too eager. "W-w-was it -- was that too much?"

"No!" She laughed easily, shaking her mousy curls. "Sam!"

"I just -- I'm not making a move on you or anything. Gee-zus."

"Oh shut up--" She rolled her eyes and braced him for another kiss. This time pulled enthusiastically to her height. He nearly let go of her in shock.

When the moment once again subsided he was dizzy with confusion.

"Ruth ... Where are we now?"

"Where-ever we want to be." She shrugged."What's the rush?"

* * *

Justine had ridden back to the house with her mother.  Sam was glad for that.  He could only imagine the volume.

Beside him in his own car Ruth was flipping between radio stations, settling on KLON  _The Smooth Jazz of Los Angeles_.  She nodded to Dizzy Gillespie's horn, closing her eyes.  As the traffic clogged on the 5 he took a moment to grin at her, squinting beneath his frames.  "You're such a fucking square."  He chuckled.

"So? That's how I like myself."

"The confidence ... It's good. Suits you."

"Thanks.  I'll say the same for you."

Smiling stupidly at one another, they were jolted back into reality by an impatient horn behind them.

_Get off the fucking freeway, Grandma!_

"Suck on this, dickhead!"  Sam clumsily cranked the window down and gave the bird.

Ruth covered her face as the driver noisily passed them, his tailpipe spewing angrily.  She snorted beneath her hands.

"What?"

"Nothing, just, the ire you have for the general populace is ... entertaining."

"Glad you're not the general populace?"

"M-hmm."

* * *

 

"You want to come in? Sheila's out right now."  Ruth fumbled with her keys between her scrunched arms and crutches.

"Nothing sinister behind that offer?"  He joked, but he wasn't much accustomed to it.

"No, I promise not to take advantage of you."

"Good. I'm pure, you know."

"I know, I know."  She chuckled as the door swung open.

"God this place is kind of a shithole, huh?"  He sniffed.

"No," Her voice pitched up an octave. "It's fine. It's like home now."

"I guess looks can be deceiving."

She turned to him with mirth in her eyes, "Yes they sure can."

They seated themselves at the foot of the bed, comfortably taking in the strange events of the night.

"How did we get here?"

"Well, we got in the car and then you hobbled on up to the door --"

" _No_ , just ... How could we have missed that this is --"

"Right?"

"Yeah."

"Stubbornness.  I have to warn you, I'll always be stubborn. And an asshole."

"I know, I know," She gently patted his leg beside her, "And I'll probably always be .. insecure and self-flagellating.  Debbie pointed that one out."

"Hey, that's fine, man.  There's worse things you can be."

She nodded, her lips pursed.  "I guess."

There was a beat of silence between them.

"Alma."  He let it slip.

"What?"

"Nothing --  _no_ \-- God, Ruth, of course I fucking know Hitchcock. I made horror films in the sixties, remember?"

She laughed, edging closer to him. "You know I thought something was weird about that."

He took her in, soaked up how her eyes matched the teal dress, how her strange bony wrist laid on his knee.

"What?"  She chuckled breathlessly.

"Can I fucking kiss you now, or what?"

Laughing again, she nodded. She allowed his fingers to root through her hair and for his nicotine-flavored mouth to open to hers.  Their tentative hands shook and fumbled between each other.  Over clothes, under clothes. Warily losing themselves.

As the moment heightened a familiar jingle of keys shook behind the door.  Startled, the two zipped up and tucked in anything amiss. Their hair, however remained mussed and Sam's glasses were somewhere in the folds of the comforter.  He stood hastily and nearly fell over.

"--And that's what the next episode is going to be about." He said loudly, albeit histrionically.  "Oh, Sheila, hey."

"Hi ... uh, what are you doing here?  And where are your glasses?"

"Briefing."

"Ok, whatever."

Clearing their throats they made something of their good-nights and goodbyes, Ruth leading Sam out and shutting the door behind them.

"God that was ... weird."

"Yeah." Ruth agreed, leaning against the door for support.

Sam turned back to her, bouncing with energy, "Worth it, though."

Ruth grinned up at him, closing the gap between them with his glasses in her up-turned palm.

"Thanks."  He reciprocated with another kiss. "I don't care who sees that one."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ruth closed the door behind her and lingered there in the threshold in a daze. At the threshold of something both new and unexpectedly familiar. She attempted to rub the shock from her face and to calm her easily excited heart.

"Hey, you okay?" Sheila feigned disinterest in sentiment so often that Ruth recoiled a bit at her sudden question.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Never been better." She let herself laugh a giddy little laugh.

"Okay. Just checking. Things just seem a bit ..." She waggled her head, compensating for the lack of an appropriate word.

"Oh, that --?" Ruth motioned vaguely behind her. "It's -- it's nothing. Hah. Just, you know, show stuff."

"Whatever, Ruth. Tell me if anything hostile occurs. He's the alpha."

Ruth nodded, her brow somewhat furrowed.

As she made her way to the restroom to change into pyjamas, she allowed her countenance to go all dreamy again. What had been so complicated about Sam's feelings toward her had faded. Everything seemed so concrete within their physicality; their new rapport. In that wake was only "Alma."

* * *

  
Sam pulled up to his driveway and cranked the car into park, the sputtering exhaust snapping him out of highway hypnosis. It's like his body was on autopilot. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. Maybe his first reefer in the locker room at Buena Vista High, all heady yellowish smoke and forgetfulness. The only difference was the absence of juvenile regret.

Justine, planted on the sofa like a disapproving parent, had picked up on his stupid smile before he did.

"What happened, Sam?" If he heard her right, there was a light teasing in her voice.

"What do you mean 'what happened?'" He glowered again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I drove Ruthie home and now I'm here. God, what more do you want?"

"Sure, sure." Her foot bobbed, snug in a tube sock over her old sweat pants. "And how did you like the dance?"

"It wasn't unbearable."

"That's good." Her brows raised in pent-up delight. "Anything new?"

"No -- Fuck -- What's with the third degree?--"

"I SAW YOU AND RUTH--" She sprang from the sofa.

"Would you keep it down? Christ, do you want the neighbors to call the Sheriff again?"

It was too late. As he harped on the annoyances of noise complaints, Justine had circled him in delirious excitement before he could brace her shoulders and reaffirm his stoic pseudo-dad role.

"Well?! Come on, you can't just leave me hanging -- or did you forget I'm leaving tomorrow morning?"

 

"Okay, okay." He relaxed, slowly nodding and relinquishing his grasp. "It ... wasn't unbearable either." Despite his best efforts a smile crept through.

* * *

  
Ruth arrived at the gym early, as usual. Her crutches clicked and echoed on the cement floor as she inched toward the ring. She hadn't dressed in her usual athletic gear, instead opting for a simple t-shirt and jeans. Her stomach roiled part hunger, part disappointment in her leg, and part uncertainty. Her anxiety had bubbled up and sputtered like a geyser upon her waking. Doubt pressed against her cast, manifested in the "S f S" in permanent marker. What if his mind had changed in the light of day? What if the strange magic of last night had worn off -- and she was once again just a neurotic pumpkin slammed in the middle of a women's wrestling show?

She set her crutches at the base of the stairs leading to the director's office. Paused. 

Sam's silhouette was just visible to her beneath the dust and smudges on the plate glass. A faint murmur of the radio and whirring of tape cascading down the steps.

Nerve up, chest full of stale morning air, she began the arduous process of mounting the stairs. Each step closer the noises of the office became more pin-pointed and defined. 

_"Cause we're living in a world of fools breaking us down when they all should let us be --"_

She stopped three steps from the landing, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and lips pursed in disbelief. Inside Sam led an off-key harmony to the BeeGees.

She hadn't felt so strangely intimate toward him since seeing his dating video -- an uncanny look into his guarded self.

When he attempted that famous falsetto, though, she gave up her cover with a snort.

"Who the fuck is it?" A rustling of papers and the quick stifling of the radio resounded before the door whipped open.

She didn't expect her heart to toss like it did. "It's just me."

"Yeah?" She could tell he was scrambling to recover.

"I didn't know you -- had so much talent hidden --"

"Oh, shut up." The words were as affectionate as any.

"No, no really. What are you doing behind the camera?"

"Would you quit that and get in here?"

"Of course, Barry."

"Huh?"

"Barry Gibb."

His exterior cracked and he collapsed into his desk chair with an airy chuckle. "If you'd stop being so insensitive I would tell you the news."

"Hmm?"

"Go ahead and sit, you're making me nervous."

She plopped on the love seat behind him.

"I know your leg has got you ... laid up. And I get how much this shitshow has grown on you. How about helping me direct the finale?"

Her breath hitched within her.

"Don't get all sappy on me, for Christ's sake. Just a yes or no."

"Fuck -- of course!!"

"Great." He swiveled back to the desk. Paused to take off his glasses. Scratch his hairline. "About last night --"

"I get it, don't let in interfere with work, don't get ahead of myself --"

"God, calm down." He held a hand to quiet her unrelenting professionalism. "No, I ... I wanted to tell you ..."

The air in the room grew heavy with silence. With anticipation.

"... to tell you ... that it was real nice. Yeah, real nice. And if you're not opposed, I'd like it to --" he motioned with both palms, "continue."

"Yeah?" Breathless.

"Yeah. If you'd have me."

 _"Sam -_ -" She suppressed her joy "Yes!"

**Author's Note:**

> I may add on to this depending on where the narrative takes me. There is a criminal lack of content for this show!


End file.
